


Harrenhal: Prophecies Fulfilled and History Repeated

by shaylaberries



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), More fandoms to be added
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 02:40:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaylaberries/pseuds/shaylaberries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an Au of Harrenhal. It matches up to an Au of mine, not canon. Though it will have the same results I don't think this is anyone's headcanon of the tourney.</p><p>Reviews appreciated</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brandon I

Brandon Stark - Harrenhal 281 AL

 

Harrenhal was exactly as he imagined, albeit it was more vast than anything his mind could conjure. It was easily three times bigger than Winterfell, which to Brandon had been unfathomable until they arrived two days ago.

His father had sent him and his siblings to 'the greatest tourney that ever was' - so the small folk were proclaiming it, to represent House Stark among the other great houses in Rickard's absence. Though Brandon knew his father also had other motives;

 

_"You are to stay away from that girl Brandon! For the last time. You. Are. Betrothed!"_

_"I know father, I meant no harm by it truly -"_

_"Oh of course you didn't Brandon, but harm it caused none the less!" His father sounded hoarse with frustration. The three prominent wrinkles in his forehead deepening in the all too familiar manner Brandon recognised as disappointment._

_People he never even knew said he was the wild one of the pack, they had started saying it before he could even remember, and Gods, did he live up to the title. Brandon Stark drank, he fought, he whored and he dishonoured his future banner men's daughters and quite possibly wives a like. He loved it of course, and why wouldn't he? What man wouldn't? Brandon had yet to find a woman that would not raise her skirts for him or a man that could with stand him in a fight with only their flesh and bones for armour and weapons. Brandon Stark was the heir of Winterfell, future Lord Paramount of the North and everyone above the Neck knew it but oh, how he hated them for never letting him forget it._

_‘To think, some day we will be governed by a wild wolf that can’t even control his own cock’ their eyes would say, though their faces lied with fake smiles. 'Cravens!' He'd curse to himself; 'say what you mean or say nothing at all'. For sure most of the North loved him (though he was sure they would love anyone with the last name Stark), they would laugh at his jokes and seem captivated with his stories but he knew well enough it was all just a show, an act to get closer to the future Lord of Winter. Truly, he despised them._

_When the same look of unworthiness lay in his father's eyes however, Brandon would feel a mixture of guilt and shame but still mostly, resentment. He had never asked to be born first! If the Gods had have given him a choice he would've chosen to come second, bare no responsibilities, have no duty, never get betrothed to a little girl for her father's armies! Be wild and free like the wolf everyone knew him to be, but alas, the Gods deemed that the most wild of the litter be restrained by the bounds of birth right and expectations. Though surely they could foresee that sooner or later he was going to break loose as the beast inside him yearned to?_

_But then his father would sigh in that ‘Gods give me strength’ way he had and any anguish or self-righteousness Brandon had felt would melt away like the spring snow in the summer sun._

_“Forgive me father” he quietly pleaded, like he always had since he were a wee lad; “I cannot take back what I have done but I wish to redeem myself as best as I can.”_

_Rickard sighed again – though this time it was the kind that said ‘all is forgiven, though I am not entirely happy about it’, as he reclined back into his twisted weirwood throne. Brandon smiled to himself; trying his best to stop the edges of his lips curling too much, least his amusement became apparent. After mulling over his son’s words Rickard narrowed his eyes at Brandon searchingly, as though he were looking for a lie;_

_“You do not love her?” Rickard asked, his eyes never leaving those of his son._

_The thought of it was the most ridiculous thing Brandon had ever heard of course, and though he would never laugh in his lord father’s face he couldn’t help the look of cocky defiance he gave him. As if it were a joke to assume Brandon Stark could ever fall in love._

_“I take the contortion in your face as a no then?”_

_“Take it as an absolutely not, father”_

_“Then why boy? Why would you take a woman that is not yours? You know Lord Dustin wishes to betroth her to William, I thought the boy was your friend –“_

_“William is like a brother to me father, a woman will not come between us” he snapped defensively, quickly regretting it as his father raised himself from his seat again, an act of authority Brandon knew well to retreat from._

_“Then why do you continue to dishonour him by bedding his future wife?!” Rickard roared, though he sounded more tired than angry._

_“I don’t know” he whispered to the ground, for he did not dare look his lord father in the eyes right now; “surely you know what it’s like father? I am the future Lord of Winterfell, women wish to be the future Lady.” Brandon did not need to look up to know his father was boring accusatory holes into his skull that said ‘you better not have promised such things’, to which Brandon only rolled his eyes – at the floor of course._

_“Everyone from the Wall to the Trident knows I am betrothed to Lady Catelyn, father. And before you start” he added in a rush, knowing his father would likely have something to say like; ‘a man who is not ignorant of his crime, is indeed more guilty of it’, which at this moment, Brandon didn’t need._

_“I am aware that I dishonoured her too, though that was never my intention.” He dared to raise his eyes from the point of his boot which he had been silently examining to lessen the intensity of this particular environment to look at his father, hoping his pleading eyes might inspire more forgiveness. His father was slouched back in his seat, tired and defeated._

_“It never is son” Rickard said with a sad smile, the only kind his father had since his lady mother died. Brandon was a man grown now, strong as a bull and as big as an ox, and yet he still went to his father’s feet like a small pup needing his master’s affections._

_His father smelt like weirwood and wolf, a comfort to him if there ever was any. In the many moons after his mother had died birthing Benjen, Brandon had cried himself to sleep in his father’s arms. ‘There, there boy’ he would whisper ‘you will see her again in the heavens’, Brandon had only cried even louder thinking ‘fuck the heavens’ though he did not voice such blaspheme to his father._

_“These women throw themselves at me” Brandon said as he felt his father’s steady hand pat him on the head, giving him a new confidence to speak; “the last time I fell into the furs with Barbrey she had begged me to take her father, literally begged me on her knees!”_

_“On her knees?” His father asked in disbelief, though Brandon could hear the hint of amusement and jest in the depths of his voice._

_“Truly father!” He swore, throwing his hands up in exasperation at his father’s sudden laughter. Brandon was being serious! This truly was a burden for him; “Pray tell me, how am I meant to deny that? When women snuck into your bedchambers under the shadow of the night and whispered sweet words of promise and endearment in your ears, how did you refuse them father?”_

_“My dear boy” Rickard finally managed through his dying amusement; “I was the lone wolf of Winterfell for many years and yet sadly” he said with a wink; “I cannot say I ever found myself in such questionable circumstances. Perhaps it is not only your title that the ‘women,’ as you say, are attracted to.”_

_Brandon scoffed indignantly; “Other than my title, they don’t even know me.”_

_“Then make them know you Brandon” his father said encouragingly; “you have so much more to offer the world than just your cock my boy. You my son are my brave Bran” the words said with so much affection Brandon almost crawled into his father’s lap like a toddler does their mother; “you have more heart than balls and if your ego is anything to go by you have more than enough of those.”_

_They laughed together heartily at that, no man would ever know his father knew such humour but then no man ever knew his father quite like he did._

_“I wasn’t made for this father, you know that surely”_

_“Bran –“_

_“No father, please, Ned is more cut out for this than I. You know that, I know that, Ned knows that –“_

_“Brandon you cannot run away from who you are –“_

_“But father this is not me! I am no Lord –“_

_“No, not yet you’re not, but you will be” the finality in Rickard’s voice made Brandon second guess whether he should pursue this further, though he decided to ignore the warning tone in his father’s words and press on – as usual._

_“What if I’m not though father? What if I lead the North into peril and despair?”_

_“Then son” his father sighed; “I can only pray that the cause of your actions is righteous and in the end, you make peace with your own decisions.” They stayed still and silent for many moments with Brandon’s head leaning on his father’s knee as Rickard slowly petted him, like he were calming a wild animal. Brandon subconsciously synchronized his breathing with his father; deep, slow, soothing, as though the world could crumble around them and nothing would matter but the consciousness of breathing; the automatic bodily function that we pay so little attention to and yet it is the most quintessential action of life. For living, is only breathing._

_“You are to take your brother and sister to a tourney” Rickard said, breaking the calm silence that had over taken them._

_“A tourney?” He asked with perhaps more than a little enthusiasm._

_“You are not to enter the melee.”_

_“What?!” Brandon suddenly whipped around to face his father with eyebrows furrowed, a dark grey storm suddenly brewing in his eyes; “But father melee is what I do –“_

_“I will have no arguments Brandon, you will not enter the lists for melee and that is final.”_

_“So you expect me to just sit there and watch!?”_

_“Of course not, I expect you to enter the jousting lists.”_

_“What!?” Brandon said again, even more astounded than the first time; “Father you know how poor I am at jousting! It would be better to put Lya on the lists –“_

_“I will have no such madness Brandon Stark, for I assure you” his father interrupted, his voice suddenly stern and intimidating again; “punishment will be severe.”_

_“Of course father” Brandon said, rolling his eyes at the ground again as he rose to his feet; “I am merely saying that I am horrible at jousting and can bring no honour to myself or our house competing in that field of competition. Whereas with melee –‘_

_“I have told you once Brandon, I will not tell you again. No. Melee.”_

_“But –“_

_“Silence!” Rickard finally yelled, angry at the defiance of his son. More than a few times had Brandon been commanded so by his lord father, and every time it had its desired effect. Silence._

_“Aerys Targaryen will be at this tourney” his father spoke more softly now, though without yielding his commanding tone; “do not give him reason to take my son.”_

_“Yes father” he submitted, not wanting to push his father’s boundaries any further._

_“You are to spend your free time with Lady Catelyn and Lord Tully to make up for your past indiscretions.” Brandon noted the way his father said ‘past’ with more emphasis than needed, but he got the point._

_“Yes father”_

_“Jon will be sending Elbert in his wake” Rickard’s eyes bore into Brandon’s as though to say; ‘and you boys had better behave’ but Brandon was already wearing a knowing smirk and he could see the want to smile twitching at the corners of his father’s mouth; “alongside Ned and Robert”_

_“Neddy’s coming?” Brandon asked with genuine enthusiasm, he had missed his younger brother. Ned was more distant to him every time he came back to Winterfell, for whatever reasons Brandon never knew._

_“Aye” Rickard said, pleased with the obvious excitement his words caused; “you’re brother has been away from his siblings for too long. The packs bonds need to be strengthened, for Winter is coming”_

_“And the lone wolf dies but the pack survives” Brandon finished._

_“Aye” his father agreed sadly, rising to take Brandon by the shoulders; “you understand what I have asked of you son?”_

_“Yes father” Brandon huffed, he wasn’t pleased of course but for now he would obey._

_“Good boy” his father praised with an affectionate pat; “now, send in your sister” he sighed resignedly._

 

And so here he was, fulfilling his father’s wishes and experiencing the excitement of travelling places he had only ever heard of. So was the lot of the first born son, being trapped within the realm which they govern, whilst every son after might go from the Wall to Qarth and back, if only he so pleases. His father had hoped that sending him to this tourney would sate his curiosity of the world and perhaps his time together with his betrothed would sate his curiosity of women – though Brandon highly doubted any of that.

“What’s got you looking so cold eh Stark?” Elbert Arryn teased with the arrogance that only the heir to a great house could possess; “Is winter coming is it?”

Brandon laughed whole-heartedly at that, joined by his entourage of misfit companions to create a symphony of mirth and amusement. His brothers in heart but not in name, in soul but not in blood; Elbie, Will, Glover, Royce and Jeffory had been Brandon’s ‘wolf pack’ since before he had a hair on his chin. The daunting presence of future restraint meant little to him in the company of his pack.

“Aye Arryn” he eventually answered with the wolfish smirk that made him infamous; “winter is coming”

Aye, he thought more seriously to himself – though he would never know how right he was, until it was already too late.

Winter is coming.


	2. Eddard I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a disclaimer that I of course own none of this, all characters and places belong to George Martin, this is merely my interpretation of them.

Eddard Stark

 

“Rise and shine Neddy Bear, I got a surprise for you”

He didn’t even need to open his eyes to know his tent was no doubt full with at least five men grown, all of whom were completely inebriated – and no doubt Brandon was the worst of the lot.

“What hour is it?” Ned grumbled; his voice croaky from just waking up.

“The moon has reached the pinnacle of its journey, brother” Brandon drawled in the prophetic manner he often took to when telling his drunken tales; “for sure, the hour of the wolf is upon us” 

“Gods Brandon! Go to bed!” Ned moaned as he tried to bury himself under his furs but his brother only ripped them from him with a laugh, which was accompanied by the laughs of his friends.

“Come on Neddy, you wouldn’t want to disappoint a lady now would you?”

Ned’s eyes snapped open and he spun on his bed in a quick one hundred and eighty degree turn, a sight that apparently inspired more laughter from his audience. Elbert Arryn, the heir of the Vale was swaying in the middle of his tent, one hand bracing the support beam and the other clutching at a wineskin. Jeffory Mallister, the heir of Seagard, was being supported by Brandon’s squire Glover, who looked to be struggling to keep his own balance. Kyle Royce of Runestone a usually quiet and gentle giant was still laughing at nothing in particular in a fit of almost girlish giggles while William Dustin looked to have passed out on the floor. And then there was Brandon, with the sly wolfish smirk spread wide across his face, an arm wrapped around the ‘lady’ he’d mentioned and the other holding Ned’s furs.

“That a boy Neddy Bear, come now, Alyssa here –“

“Liezel, my Lord” the girl corrected with a blush. Trust Brandon to not even know the poor woman’s name; “my name is Liezel.”

“Of course it is sweetling” Brandon hummed almost apologetically, brushing loose tendrils of hair gently behind her ear in a way that enticed forgiveness in a woman. It always had its desired effect of course, Brandon knew women all too well; “Liezel here has been most excited to meet you brother. Come now, you do not wish to upset such a pretty girl do you?”

She was a pretty girl, this Liezel that his brother had found no doubt in one of the pleasure tents, but beauty was not enough to tempt Eddard Stark away from his honour. Not if he could help it at least.

“Forgive my brother Lady Liezel, it seems he’s forgotten himself in his cups again”

“Oh Ned come –“

“Please my lady, if you would kindly make your leave of my tent. I am afraid my lord father would not approve of your presence here.”

“Oh for fuck sakes Ned –“

“Take your friends and leave Brandon” Ned growled more coldly than perhaps he wanted to, though what did it matter? Brandon wouldn’t care what his shy, quiet little brother had to say or how he said it, not in the state he was in surely.

“But I brought her for you –“

“I don’t want your left overs Brandon!” Ned roared indignantly, quickly regretting it once he saw the look of shame and disdain written on the woman’s face. “Forgive me my lady” he tried to mumble, though he was sure she was no longer listening to him, and if she was his weak attempt of an apology most likely got lost on the wind.

“I would never bring you a woman I’ve used nor intend to use, brother” Brandon said, suddenly seeming angry – and almost hurt; “I thought she was beautiful, I thought she would please you.”

His brother suddenly threw the woman’s arm aside in distaste as he began pacing around like a caged animal, snatching the wineskin from Elbert as he passed him and proceeding to take large gulps until – Ned could only assume, it was empty.

“She is beautiful” Ned said quietly, he looked at the woman who had long flowing golden locks and seductive blue eyes, a body fit for the maiden goddess, though it was clothed as sagely as the bed slaves of the Yunkai; “she is pleasing” he truthfully added in a whisper. Though there was no point in that, for Brandon heard him, Brandon always heard him;

“Then have her Neddy, for Gods sake –“

“No”

“Why?” Brandon said in a drawn out pleading way, as though honour and decency was so very hard for him to fathom.

“Just because I find a woman attractive or pleasing does not mean I should bed her!”

“But you can Ned! You can do whatever you please, fuck whomever you please, go wherever you damn well please!”

“And you get Winterfell Brandon! You get to be Lord Paramount of the North! You get a beautiful betrothed that belongs to a great house who will bare you sons to carry on your legacy and name!” Ned listed off furiously, his voice raised so loud he could hear Benjen and Lyanna rousing from their sleep in the next tent over; “But then you always get everything you wanted Brandon, and fuck everything else!”

He expected his brother to lash out then, pounce on him and wrestle Ned into submission like Bran had when they were small boys. It had been quite fun then, annoying because he always lost but thrilling none the less. Now however, Ned thought the idea of ‘play fighting’ with a drunk, upset, and angry Brandon would do more damage to either of them than good. But then his brother was always so spontaneous in his actions and emotions, and this time was no different;

“I would give you all of that in an instant” he said with a smirk though there was a deep sadness in the mask of his smile that Ned swore he could see; “if only it would make you happy, little brother.”

Brandon turned his attentions to the woman he had brought and whispered something in her ear that made her giggle with delight as she scurried off. He hoisted Jeffory over one shoulder as his weight looked to be far too much for Ethan to handle any longer;

“Royce, Elbie wake Will up and meet us back at the tent.” his brother commanded, and almost instantly he was obeyed; “We’re not welcome here.”

Ned almost called him back as Brandon made his way swiftly out of the tent, even though Jeffory was splayed out across his back and his squire was being dragged along by his left arm, Brandon moved with a haste Ned had only ever seen a few times – right before his brother was about to cry. Brandon had done it many times right after mother had died and perhaps once or twice when he had a particularly bad fight with father. Brandon would take his exit as quickly as possible so he could mourn his defeat alone, like the lone wolf howls for the pack. Brandon cried, just no one ever saw him.

“You’re cruel to him, you know” William groaned from the ground as Kyle continued to nudge him with his foot – no doubt a lazy attempt to get him up.

“Aye” Elbert agreed, reaching out a hand to pull the future Lord Dustin to his feet, though it was swatted away with a look of disdain;

“I can get to my own feet”

“Can ya?” Elbert teased as he kicked William back to the ground; “As I was saying Neddy Bear –“

“Don’t call me that!” Ned snapped without meaning to; “forgive me” he tried to start but Elbert only brushed it aside with a shake of his head and a flick of his hand. Elbert was the future Lord Paramount of the Vale, Ned was meant to show him respect, even when he was in such intoxicated conditions. “Only Brandon calls me that.”

It was a pet name his lady mother had given him when he were just a babe, ‘my grizzly little Neddy Bear’ he could still hear her voice teasing sometimes when he prayed in the Godswoods. Lyanna had been too young to remember their mother much and her toddler tongue could only just manage ‘Ned’ by the time their mother came to pass. Benjen, of course, never got to know mother and for that Ned had always felt sorry for him. Brandon was therefore the only one that held the tradition, he remembered mother the best, he got the most time with her but ‘Neddy Bear’ was a bond that Ned shared with their mother, a bond that Brandon helped keep alive, one that was precious to them and only them. He wouldn’t allow it from anyone else – as embarrassing enough as it is. 

“If I might continue, Lord Eddard?” Elbert addressed mockingly, trying to impersonate someone with some degree of manners; “He told it true you know? Bran would give it all to you if he could.”

“I don’t want it”

“Are you sure?”

“I would never usurp my brother –“

“This isn’t about blood rebellions Ned, if Bran offered it willing, would you truly not want it?”

“I don’t know” Ned huffed resignedly, for he truly didn’t know, he had never put any thought into such things.

“Of course you don’t, no one does. The power and the glory all sounds wonderful when you don’t know of the obligations, the burden of every man on your shoulders. No man truly wants that Ned. Brandon wants what you have –‘

“What do I have that Brandon does not?” Ned scoffed, not bothering to apologize this time.

“Freedom” Elbert said suddenly serious, any hint of amusement or mirth gone from his voice; “for what point is there in being alive when you do not live, in being free when you do not exercise freedom?”

After a long silence of Ned mulling over the words, agreeing and disagreeing with himself that this is completely ludicrous and he should just go back to sleep, he finally mumbles; “What does me bedding a woman he’s paid for, have anything to do with any of this?”

His exasperation was obviously lost on the three lords who were still gathered in his tent as they only chortled at him in unison.

“What more freedom can a man find than between a woman’s legs boy?” Kyle Royce roared in a deep delighted voice.

William Dustin finally looked coherent enough to stand, as he wiped the slobber that had accumulated on his face away, swaying slightly to and fro until Royce had him firmly by one shoulder and Elbert had the other.

“You’re lucky Eddard” William slurred, his bottom jaw slack and his eyes half closed; “you’re brother loves you like he does none of us –“

“Oh, shut up Dusty!” Elbert interrupted.

“It’s true though Elbie, you know, I know, Gods even Royce knows and that fool barely knows shit –“

“Hey, fuck you Dustin, We Remember” Royce recited his words with a chuckle that was met by more guffawing from his companions. They were always laughing, this pack of wild and cocky fools. It was one of the very few things that made Ned truly smile – though he always tried his damnedest to hide it from them.

“Brandon loves you Ned” William continued in his drunken rambles; “he loves you so much that even though he wishes more than anything” he emphasised with crazy hand gestures that Ned assumed were a sign of great vastness; “to be free he would never run from his duty because he would never wish to leave it to you. Tonight he wanted to show you he’s happy for you to have what he’s always wanted; tonight he wanted to show it to himself.”

“Gods you’re one soppy bastard when you drink Dusty” Elbert taunted with a snort, something that apparently earned him a smack over the head.

“Just make haste already” Kyle huffed after having to swat the hands that were reaching over him away but Elbert and William paid him no mind as they continued to try and slap each other; “the women are waiting for us you fools, or would you rather stay here and touch yourselves?”

They laughed their way out of Ned’s tent, still fighting as they went well out of hearing but the thoughts they’d left Eddard with lingered on. Of course Brandon loved him, did not all blood brothers love one another despite themselves? But Brandon had always been selfish and reckless. He did as his emotions commanded him to, and too often those emotions were too intense or unruly to result in actions that were pleasing. Brandon was like day where Eddard was night and so sometimes, love was hard to recognise from one another, where anguish and difference was all too easy to see.

Ned could only push such thoughts aside for now and try to get some rest before the tourney on the morrow. Of course he was not competing – according to father he wasn’t old enough to yet, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t support Robert in his melee, or perhaps even help Bran with his armour. Then maybe, they could talk to each other and level out these misunderstandings but for now all Ned really wanted was sleep – 

\-----------------------------

“Fuck, Ben!”

Ned was startled out of his cot, awakening from what little slumber he had found at the sudden scream of his sister and the crash of what sounded to be metal. Ned quickly grabbed his breeches and hopped his way into them as he made his way out of his tent. The sun had still not risen he noticed, but the sky was brightening with the promise of a new day. He must have had no more than two or three more hours sleep but his sister had a way inspiring immediate alertness in him – especially when she screamed.

“What the hells is going on?” Ned asked in his most stern and commanding voice.

Lyanna was trying to help Benjen out from under a pile of old armour and their new found friend; Howland Reid, was trying to conceal a lance, which of course was obviously visible behind his small and lithe form.

“Ned” Lyanna chirped as happily as a summer bird, like butter wouldn’t melt in her sweet little mouth and there was nothing to worry about here at all; “we were just –“

“Why is Howland trying to hide a lance?” he questioned, not even bothering to listen to whatever embellished tales she has to tell him.

“Oh, that? That’s just – um”

“Where did you get it from?”

“We found it Ned I –“

“Why do you have it?”

“It’s a perfectly good lance, Bran might be able to use it –“

“So again, why do _you_ have it?” Ned knew his sister didn’t handle such interrogations well, Lyanna was always a very honest person. Sooner or later she would crack or fold under the pressure, Ned hoped for the latter.

“We only just found it, give us a chance to –“

“Don’t lie to me Lyanna” Ned warned, his eyes boring in to hers; “I can see through you.” Eddard watched as his sister’s face crumpled in frustration and her façade shattered like a snowflake under foot. Lyanna was never good at keeping up appearences;

“Those bastards still snigger at Howland as though he were a commoner! They look at all of us from above the Neck as though we are savages! They have no respect Eddard! None what so ever!”

“What is this about now Lya?”

“Those fools that attacked Howland!” She fumed, her rage reflected in the storming grey clouds of her eyes; “I will not just let them get away with this”

“And what are you suggesting the three of you do, Lyanna?” he said more sternly now than before, least Lyanna thinks she can trick him into believing whatever scheme she has is the right thing to do.

“Forgive me my Lord” Howland addressed with a bow, he was truly the most humble man Eddard had ever come to know; “I ask for none of this vengeance, I assure you –”

“Howland?” Lyanna whined, feigning hurt.

“It seems I have allowed myself to aid my Lady Stark in her quest for justice too far –“

“Hear that Ned? Justice”

“Be quiet Lya” Ned chastened; “please Howland continue”

“You don’t have to answer to him Howland” Ben interrupted, apparently finding his voice after finally removing himself from under a great shield with a laughing weirwood tree; “he’s as much your Lord as I am”

“Should I go retrieve Brandon then should I? See what he has to make of this –“

“No Ned please” Lyanna pleaded desperately, knowing full well that Brandon would have to inform father of any misbehaviour; “none of this is Howland or Benjen’s fault. I convinced them that this was a good idea, if anyone’s to blame it’s me”

“What did you convince them of Lya? Tell me”

“I entered the lists as an anonymous knight” she blurted, as though saying it quickly would lessen the words severity; “promise me you won’t tell anyone Ned”

He immediately thought to refuse – it would have been the right thing to stop all this madness now before it was too late, but his sister threw herself around him in an embrace that mimicked a damsel in distress rather than the heroic maiden knight she wished to impersonate and the desperation in her eyes beckoned him against his will to see her reason;

“Promise me Ned, promise me” she begged again and again.

And so in the end he relented with a sigh, and promised his will away to the wind, but then when it came to his sister, he always did.


	3. Elia I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that this is not at all mine or anyone's headcanon of the tourney, though I aim for it to be as accurate as possible. It fits to an AU of mine, though you could read it and it would still have the same major results as canon Harrenhal.
> 
> All characters and places don't belong to me of course. All credit goes to G R R Martin.
> 
> Thank you for reading, reviews greatly appreciated.

Elia - 281 AL Harrenhal

“You can’t catch me, you can’t catch me” Rhaenys giggled with delight as Elia chased her up and down the many hallways of Harrenhal, cautiously ducking in and out of the shadows as though to hide from the light. It was the first time in so long she had felt this free; free enough to run and play with her daughter without the criticising eyes of court, free enough to think that the future is not so grim and there is sunlight on the horizon but then, her body would betray her spirit and remind her again of its limitations. The waves of nausea that overcame Elia were so violent; she could almost faint.

“Come now my tiny Warrior Queen” the soothing voice of her good mother called, exactly when it needed to be heard the most – as always; “we do not wish to over exert your mother before the jousting begins, do we?”

Rhaella Targaryen was a calm woman by nature and demeanour, though one would never question her position as Queen for the aura she radiated was a commanding force, even when it was well hidden behind a sweet face with gentle smiles. It was her foresight however, that both intrigued and frightened Elia the most, an attribute her Queen possessed that inspired the utmost respect and fear from her, for truly, it was a gift and a curse from the Gods.

Her sweet child had come rushing back to her skirts, eyebrows furrowed with worry; “You ‘right mama?” she asked with a concern Elia was sure a child of her age should not know.

“I am well my bravest princess” she lied with a reassuring smile, for what mother wishes to admit weakness to their child? “Go now, Viserys is still hiding around here somewhere”

She watched as her daughter ran away with gleeful laughter lingering in her wake, a sound that could warm Elia’s heart back from the dead. Sighing in relief as the gentle arm of her good mother laced through her own, offering much needed support.

“Is it the baby?”

“I believe so” she grimaced, looking to Rhaella with a pitiful attempt to smile. Pregnancy had been fine with Rhaenys; it was the birth that had destroyed her. This time nausea would take her from early morn till the dark of night, even though she was not even yet showing.

“A boy” Rhaella hummed with a knowing smile

“You believe so?” Elia asked not being able to hide the longing in her voice. A son would stop the cruel whispers, a son would secure position in the King’s eyes – and that, above all, was the most crucial thing. For displeasing Aerys was indeed provoking insanity.

“I know so” Rhaella said with a finality that was somehow more assuring than anything; “come now, I assume our Lord King will be most _displeased_ if we are not in attendance on time”

Elia nodded in agreement and hoped the smile on her face resembled calm and serenity, though the pulsating of her heart said anything but. ‘She heard me’ Elia pondered for the thousandth time; ‘in my thoughts, she heard me’. For true, Rhaella Targaryen was a most intimidating woman.

“Do you think it wise for you to be out of bed today, sweet one?” Rhaella asked worriedly, apparently the shake in Elia’s hands was more obvious than she thought.

“I am well Your Grace, please –“  
“I have told you once, I will not tell you again” her voice as commanding and stern though the smile on her face was warm and encouraging; “call me mother.”

“Mother, please, I do not wish to be locked away –“

“And I do not wish to lock you away” Rhaella said with a cocked eyebrow, something that so reminded Elia of her own lady mother.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to imply –“

“Enough” she interrupted curtly with a raised hand; “have you taken the medicines Mordecai provided you?”

“Every morning before I break my fast and every afternoon before I last sup”

“And you’ve eaten –“

“A full meal this morning?” Elia interrupted knowingly; “Yes lady mother I have” she purred with the bow of her head, a smile creeping up the corner of her lips.

“Then I see no reason why you should be locked away, child” Rhaella smirked, a spark of mischief in the violet of her eyes and the hint of a giggle in the melody of her voice. She was so youthful this way, her Queen of the Iron Throne; with a knowing in her eyes that is all too enticing yet terrifying at once, a sweet smile on her lips that just barely cracks the porcelain of her face, a gentle calm in her motions that lures you into her embrace where she may either choose to love you as a new mother does her first babe or she squeeze the life from you and burn the remains.

What a shame that a woman of such magnificence, virtue and power should be wasted on such a mad man as Aerys.

“Ser Barristan, Ser Arthur” Rhaella suddenly called from next to her. Elia had not been paying attention to either where they were going or what was ahead of them, so focused she was on arm that guided her and the deep thoughts of the Queen who owned it, but then she heard ‘Arthur’ and everything else was simply forgotten, if only for a moment.

“Ser Barristan, I understand you have a joust today”

“Yes, Your Grace, I am to joust one of Lord Whent’s sons”

“I shall pray for your victory, Ser” she said with an elegant nod; “Though do I ask too much of you to spare your Queen but an hour of your time right now, Barristan?”

“No, of course not, your Grace. I am of service to you always”

If Elia had not been watching her Queen so intently – least she look to Arthur too long, she would not have noticed the slight crinkle in nose or the indignant glare that flashed in her eyes. Poor Barristan had his head bowed over Rhaella’s hand, so for sure he did not see the expression, but Elia was sure he felt it as a visible shiver pulsed through him, though he still took to his knee almost apologetically.

Elia could not help the pity she felt for the knights of the Kingsguard, though Rhaella’s ire was deserved for the choice of words was poor indeed, directing her anger anywhere but the source of her pain can be – destructive.

“Rise Ser Barristan” Rhaella spoke softly after taking a few deep breaths; “you try your best” she smiled again though it never really reached her eyes. She was a good woman, Rhaella Targaryen, one of the best that history would ever know, but for sure the Gods had been so cruel to her.

“And you Ser Arthur, you too are to compete against Lord Whent’s sons?”

“His oldest, your Grace”

“And you have an hour spare, Ser?”

“Yes, you Grace”

“Good” she clapped, apparently pleased with the turn of events; “I would have you escort Princess Elia to her ladies’ tent, I believe your brother and uncle are expecting you my dear”

“Your Grace, surely I could –“

“That is simply not necessary sweet one” she interrupted again with the rise of her hand – palm side out; “it seems my little queen and her dragon knight have found your lord husband’s changing tent, I shall watch them today” her voice quieting in Elia’s ear to a hushed whisper; “you go be free, do as you please, be who you please, pretend what you please” a wide smile spreading across her face, one Elia did not quite understand – though perhaps with time, everything makes sense.

“I shall govern the children today; you may take your leave” she said with a sudden finality as she extended her long neck to its limits so that she towered over Elia with an air of authority – though it were always the gentle kind.

“Thank you, mother” she said honestly, for true freedom for one day was all she ever wanted. Though Elia daunted being dismissed as she bowed, and then turned to take the hand she had been avoiding for so long.

 

“So, are you nervous for your joust today, Ser?” she finally mustered from the aching silence that had taken them. It probably wasn’t the best thing she could say, it definitely wasn’t the only thing she could think to say but it was by far the kindest and led to the most appropriate result.

“Not in the least, Princess” his answer not quite as mechanical as she had thought it would be.

“Oh, so sure of your victory are you Ser?” She teased unwillingly, cursing herself for falling into such habits so easily.

“Oswell tells me he’s the best jouster in his family, and if that’s anything to go by, Princess” Arthur’s face breaking into a cocky smirk as he spoke; “I am quite sure”

She giggled like a foolish girl despite herself, knowing that no good could come of this and this was simply indecent of her to be feeling such ways. So as always, she forced herself to stop, as a proper wife ought to. Push away and deny any feelings she had for this man, those dreams are dead, dead the day he chose that cloak.

“You do not need to escort me Ser, I can find my way from here” a tinge of resentment tainting her voice just enough for Arthur to notice;

“I cannot leave you unaccompanied, Princess –“

“I am quite capable of –“

“I am aware you are no invalid –“

“Then why do you treat me so?” She snapped, catching herself before her voice rose too loudly.

“Is it that you do not wish for any company, or that you do not wish for mine?” Arthur snapped back, though there was more pain in his tone than Elia had hoped to hear. His eyes always looked so mournfully at her now and truly she prayed he would stop, for it hurt her more than she cared to admit to see in the pale lavender of his eyes that she was dead to him, or so they would have her believe. Arthur used to look at her in such awe, as though she were Nymeria crossing the Narrow Sea with 10,000 war ships in tow but now, now there was only pain and longing.

‘You did this to us’ she thought on her more spiteful days; ‘now watch and suffer.’ Today was not one of those days, though the tempting urge to snap was still present;

“Forgive me if I’ve made you feel unwelcome Arthur?” The question was rhetorical of course, but she had managed to temper her anger with patience and summon a pleasing enough tone matched with a true enough smile.

“My forgiveness is not necessary to you, Princess”

“But it is wanted, Ser. I am not myself lately.”

“Aye” Arthur drifted off sadly; “the Prince tells me you are again with child. Changes happen in a woman when she carries –“

“He told you?” 

“He did, forgive me –“

“But I only told him not one week ago” she interrupted; outraged that such intimate knowledge had been shared around court already.

“He told me the morn after you told him, excited as he was to be fathering another dragon” Arthur feigned a smile as he spoke but Elia could feel the hurt that resonated off him, it threatened to break her heart; “fear not though Princess, I am the only one he told.”

She thought she would feel satisfaction from the fact such things brought him pain, or perhaps anger that he was even told but in the end it was the guilt that she tortured him so unwilling that truly overwhelmed her. Surely, this was not love? Though at times she thought it was. Love shouldn’t be secret and cause such endless sufferance, not like this, this is a curse. Elia wondered more than once what she had done in the eyes of the Gods to deserve such a cruel fate.

“Thank you, Arthur. You are a true friend to him” Elia dropped her eyes not wanting to see the reaction to her words; “pray I do not show too quickly for I do wish to keep it quiet for as long as possible”

“You are” he murmured almost huskily

“Forgive –“

“Showing Princess” obviously anticipating Elia’s confusion; “you are showing, though you carry it most beautifully.” A blush crept up Arthur’s creamy neck after his sudden declaration though he dropped his head over Elia’s hand quickly before she could see it reach his face.

“The tent is just down that path Princess” he gruffly mumbled over her hand, as he pointed out a wide stone doorway that was still charred from the dragons’ efforts to burn Harrenhal to the ground; “I could assist you the whole way if you wish, but I know you are not made of glass”

“Thank you, Ser, you’ve taken me far enough”

Arthur rose and made his way as quickly as his armour allowed him to – no doubt, as far away from this situation as he could. Elia sighed to herself as she watched that cursed cloak disappear around the corner, silently praying that the Gods would make this stop, make their hearts turn cold to each other so they could move forward with the future instead of mourning the past. 

‘Please Gods make me love the right man’ she prayed.

And for once, she thought perhaps they heard.


	4. Rhaella I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken awhile, I'm currently writing on my phone which is more of an annoyance than I care to admit so do forgive me for any questionable editing.
> 
> Anyway if you are reading this and you didn't know this fic (like my other) will take on other fandoms soon e.g. Twilight (if you squint), X-Men, Underworld etc but it will pertain mainly to ASOIAF-universe. I aim to keep it a close to canon as possible given the huge changes :/
> 
> This chapter is longer than the last three as I won't have an opportunity to write Rhaella POV into my AU often and I think she's one of my most important characters although she doesn't appear in my other fic.
> 
> As always thank you for reading this, all reviews and criticism is appreciated :)

Rhaella Targaryen

 

“You win for sure Papa” her excited little granddaughter proclaimed with a proud sureness that Rhaella often wondered as to whether the attribute was from the blood of the dragon or the fire of the sun, she could never be sure but that’s what always made Rhaella love the child the most. 

“You truly think so my princess?” Her son asked scooping his only born child into his arms with a reverence Rhaella found calming. 

‘You worry all for naught’ she would tell herself in moments like these, ‘he is a good father, he would let no harm come to her’

Rhaenys had become their world after her birth, both hers and – Aerys, but his affections were another matter entirely. Rhaenys was loved and Gods she was so wanted, so long had Rhaella been waiting for her Queen of the Sun, Mother of Dragons. She could not allow anything to diverge the course of Rhaenys’ destiny; she was born for great things, the dreams told her so.

“I know so papa” she heard Rhaenys murmur against her father’s shoulder as he carried her around the tent, bopping up and down with a slow, gentle rhythm. A soothing technique that Rhaegar had quickly learned upon Rhaenys’ birth, one that he often used still to this day.

“How can you know sweet one? There are perhaps bigger and stronger men on the field than papa” Rhaegar probed as if he were not talking to a three year old with little understanding but a small adult who had more than enough wisdom to comprehend sarcasm and a man’s wanting to have his ego stroked – though Rhaella supposed those things came quickly to girls born of house Nymeros Martell.

“I jus know” she replied with a giggle, though Rhaella never doubted how much her little Queen truly knew and understood, she simply agreed with a nod and a smile.

“Thank you for your confidence sweet one” Rhaegar said with a kiss to her cheek, though he continued to murmur under his breath, “I wish I had such confidence from your mama.”

“Where’s mama?” Rhaenys asked suddenly curious, her excitement and content wavering long enough for her to realise Elia wasn’t here. Her granddaughter was very attached to her lady mother, like any small child should be for sure, but Ellie deserved time and freedom of her own, so that is what Rhaella had given her for the day.

“Mama is not feeling her best today” Rhaella started but the furrow of her dornish dragon’s brows persuaded her to take a different route; “she thought it best if she spent time relaxing with Aunt Ashara –“

“Lady Ashara” Rhaegar quickly corrected, a slightly irritated edge to his voice; “and where has –Ashara stolen my wife off to now?”

“Most probably to where the dornish have camped, you know how Ellie’s missed her brother so dearly –“

“Please mother” Rhaegar pleaded; “do not remind me of Oberyn’s presence”

“He is your good-brother, the two of you really should put all this petty jealousy behind you –“

“Me?” Her son bellowed indecently, something that sometimes reminded her Rhaegar was still just her little boy even now; “He started it mother and I have tried time and time again to make up for whatever fabricated slights he’s imagined I’ve done against him but for what? I swear he’s just a slimy –“

“Slimy?” Rhaenys questioned innocently; though Rhaegar almost jumped out of his chainmail at the sudden reminder that his all too impressionable daughter is still very much present, and all too aware.

“No sweetness, papa didn’t say slimy –“ Rhaegar tried to convince her with sweet words but his princess only tittered away with a mischievous grin.

“Yes you did papa!”

“No papa said –“

“Slimy!” Rhaenys roared with playful laughter as she bounced up and down on a dragon embroidered divan, mercilessly teasing her father into a look of devastation that almost had Rhaella giggling to herself, once, she would have, before time had purged her of such simple joys.

“Uncle Obie slimy!” she declared, grinning wider with every word she began to chant; “Slimy, slimy, Uncle Obie slimy, slimy, slimy –“

“Rhaenys my truest love please” Rhaegar pleaded, making his daughter cease in her taunts though her smirk never wavered; “you must promise papa you will not repeat that to mama, or anyone else, especially your uncle Oberyn? Do you understand?”

“Yes papa” she huffed rather reluctantly “but papa promise Rhaenys too?”

“Anything you want precious and papa shall give it to you” a declaration that had Rhaella rolling her eyes, how easily a man is swayed by a little girl born of his seed.

“I wanna be Queen” she dreamily sighed as she twirled around, no doubt imagining the long elegant trail of a gown, whirling around her like the winds. After all, Rhaella could still remember another little dornish girl who had dreams much the same.

“Don’t be silly Rhaenys” Viserys curtly chastised; “you can’t be Queen unless you marry the King.” Her youngest son was always very quick to correct his niece, though he was always gentle and Rhaenys loved him dearly his attitude and outlook was too like Aerys for her comfort – after all once upon a time Aerys had once been the big brother she had loved and adored.

“I not wanna marry” Rhaenys whined in reply, yet another reason why her granddaughter reminded Rhaella of her maternal grandmother.

She sighed and rose from her seat to take Viserys’ hand, noting that Rhaegar had once again picked Rhaenys up and was murmuring sweet nothings in her ears;

‘Good’ Rhaella could hear him say in her mind ‘stay papa’s sweet; summer princess forever.’

“Mmm” she disagreed with a pout; “I wanna be Queen, Rhaenys Queen love and booty” she stammered over the words with her young tongue, still she was so expressive for her age that you could understand her perfectly. She wanted him to win, she wanted that crown. It made them all laugh despite her seriousness, even Viserys who had been so strict before seemed to find light in the situation.

“Such faith you have in your papa my little one” Rhaegar managed after his slight deep chuckles turned back into gentle melancholy.

“I wanna be Queen” she insisted, folding her arms across her chest as he went to embrace her once more before being helped into his jousting armour, though this time his affections were declined.

“Then papa shall make it so” he submitted after apparently being denied her love for too long. 

‘So weak a man is against the will of his only daughter’ Rhaella mused to herself.

“Promise?” Rhaenys asked as she suggestively presented her left little finger to her father.

“Promise” he said as he took her tiny bronze finger in his long silver one, sealing the deal and his fate; “Away with you now, go on. You and Viserys have much exploring to do, do you not?”

Both children nodded with excitement, Viserys quickly forgetting her hand to take Rhaenys’, part of her hoped that for all time he would love her so, if not – well, one could only hope there is no ‘if not’.

“Then fly my little dragons, go forth and conquer worlds” she encouraged with a kiss to the brow that they were always eager to receive when either returning from or departing to their fantasy adventures of conquest. They ran off together still hand in hand, Ser Jonothor trailing far enough behind for them to believe they have true freedom. But Rhaella was always watching, always following, and always insuring that ‘freedom’ is not taken advantage of. 

“Is she truly unwell?” Rhaegar asked once the children were no doubt out of hearing range.

“She has been worse but pregnancy does her no favours” her answer was obviously not the desired one for her son visibly winced in grimace.

“This child does not agree well with her.”

“Some children are difficult to carry and yet easy to birth, in the end it all matters not once you have your babe in your arms.”

“And if I wish for another after that?” An innocent enough question, but the repercussions – she had envisioned, for such actions were devastating.

“Then I implore you to give it time my son, time is the master of all gods’ designs.”

“And if time is not on my side, mother?”

“Then Targaryens have taken second wives, though one was a conqueror and one was a mad man, it has been done.”

“And what will they call me mother, if I do? The conqueror or the mad man?” his questions suddenly sounding desperate, a certain tone in his voice urged memories forward that she would rather forget.

“Do you suffer dreams my son, vivid dreams?”

“Yes” he whispered, suddenly staring at her as though it were a miracle someone finally understood him, she could almost laugh at the irony of it, how history had a twisted way of repeating itself and how the Gods had been so cruel.

“Leave us” he commanded Jon Connington and the page boy who had been silently dressing him. They left swiftly with a bow and mumbled ‘yes my prince’ that was barely audible even though they said it in unison. Rhaella opened her arms for her son, and though he fell into them like he always had his armour and height made it comically uncomfortable to truly hug her oldest child.

‘He’s a big boy’ she thought to herself, probably more pleased with herself than the usual proud mother would be, ‘but still just a boy.’

“Your dreams? Are they repetitive?” The Queen began inquiring once she had found some comfort in their awkward embrace.

“Every night the same dream for almost a moon, each one more clear than the last.”

“Do these dreams seem to physically possess you, as though they wish to speak through you and not to you?” The look of confusion on Rhaegar’s face told her that he had not experienced such ‘dreams’ – a relief to her if there was any in such a situation.

“Good” she sighed; “then they are not so bad –“

“Not so bad?” Rhaegar asked sounding suddenly indignant; “I don’t think you understand mother –“

“It is the content of the dreams that concerns you and not the ferocity of the dreams themselves correct?” He nodded though he still looked befuddled with her wording.

‘Trust me my son, if you knew such dreams I speak of there would be no confusion.’

“So what occurs in your dreams exactly, child?”

“Dragons mother, I see dragons –“

“You would not be the first Targaryen to say so” she japed, trying to urge him out the slow depression she knew he was beginning to feel. So quick to sadness her gentle dragon, so like her in so many ways.

“I see Rhaenys” his voice suddenly solemn as he whispered the words, as though he was slightly frightened by them; “I see a boy –“

“Like you” she added for she knew this dream, she had known it long ago from beginning to end the day Loreza had brought her the old man of Myr.

“Aye” Rhaegar managed through his disbelief; “how do you – why is it – you – mother?” 

“I can read you like a book my son” she said, though it were true her motherly intuition was not accredited to her knowing this time, Rhaella had come to terms with making such elegant mistruths a long time ago.

“These dreams plague me mother, even as my eyes are open and I am in the light of day. I cannot stop thinking, the dragon has three heads, the dragon has three heads, the dragon has three heads –“he started repeating to himself, though Rhaella hushed him quickly of such curses.

“Endure them my son, do not seek to fulfil them” the look of desperation in his eyes haunted her, was he already seeking to fulfil them, and if not would he? The panic within her began rising again.

‘He’s a good boy’ she reminded herself; ‘a good hearted boy’ but demons lurking in the crevices of her own mind reminded her that it took a man to be King, ‘Kill the boy, and let the man be born’. Time would purge her son of weakness, she was sure, but how much time did one truly have when winter is coming?

“I haven’t told you the end mother” Rhaegar mumbled, more to himself than to her.

“Then speak child, and lift this burden from your shoulders” Rhaella encouraged as she held her grip around his waist a little tighter, an effort she knew he would not feel through the thick steel layers that separated them but he would feel it in his heart none the less.

“I see the Wall falling – I – I see men who should be dead, so decayed and frozen they are” she stroked the small of his back soothingly as Rhaegar staggered through his visions, prompting him to speak on; “I see the snow falling so far south that it blankets the sands of Dorne, I see babes, children and women dying everywhere, the cold takes royal, noble and small folk alike.”

Rhaegar’s tears pitter-pattered on the top of her head as her poor boy pulled her in tighter to his chest, as though she could banish the shadows away – she hoped time would not teach him she was incapable of such feats.

“What do I do mother?” he whimpered with defeat.

“For now my son, you forget them. Dreams are not necessarily glimpses into the future” she half lied, for Rhaella Targaryen knew for sure that _certain dreams_ most definitely _were_ in fact, visions through time. ‘Premonition’ she reminded herself darkly ‘a _gift_ a – as Mordecai had put it, that not many were born with and even fewer had control over.’

“Let them remain dreams” she finished, hoping not to sound as distant and far off as her mind truly was; “and then let the sun of a new day force the darkness and dreams away so that you, my son, might be able to live in peace” Rhaella backed away for a moment to truly assess the only man, she was sure, she ever truly loved – though give Viserys a decade or so and she will happily have two.

Rhaegar was everything a Targaryen mother hoped for in a son. He had their valyrian features; eyes of purple hues, skin as fair as cream and hair of pale white gold. Rhaegar was lithe but tall, tall enough to stand over most men anyhow. He was intelligent, gifted with words both written and spoken but perhaps above all he was kind, he was gentle and he had a good heart. The pain he experienced now was evidence of that was it not? For what cruel man can be so plagued by the demise of others?

 

_Her father had told her once that; ‘madness and greatness were two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born’, he said as he flicked a gold coin towards the heavens, ‘the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land’, as though for effect the coin would fall to the ground clinking at her feet, as she picked it up to twirl it between her fingers, Rhaella could see the coin was indeed stamped the same on both sides with a three-headed dragon._

_‘But sometimes the Gods are cruel’ Jaeherys had enlightened her, with his soft yet knowing voice, ‘sometimes greatness is madness and sometimes the same can be said vice versa. And in such circumstances my sweet daughter, one must realise the Gods never gave us any chance to begin with, they just like to see us all hold our breaths.’_

_She had cried into her father’s feeble form, bedridden and ill yet still the strongest force in her world. Jaeherys Targaryen second of his name, had been one of the best Kings to ever sit the Iron throne – a pity it was that he predecessor could never hold a candle to his light._

 

But there was hope yet for his grandson.

“My sweet child” Rhaella cooed affectionately as she rubbed the remnants of tears Rhaegar had tried to hide from his cheeks; “is all not well in your life? Does your wife not make you happy?”

In truth Rhaella had feared the longevity of their union from the beginning, Elia’s unstable health could not insure her survival of birthing the realm’s heirs, Aerys’ more twisted agendas dampened their relationship more than his insanity should be allowed to. Then, of course, there was Ser Arthur – 

Of for sure he and Elia had not so much as whispered their feelings for each other but Rhaella needed no whispers to hear thoughts. Elia – as good and dutiful as she was, would never think to act out against her vows (less of course her children’s’ lives depended on it, a virtue she had always so loved in the girl’s lady mother) and Arthur – well he loved Rhaegar more than Elia did, perhaps not as much as he secretly did his dornish princess but enough to serve Rhaegar with obedience and honesty. As sad as it was to say however, Elia had never taken to Rhaegar, not truly like Rhaella had hoped. Aye, she had done as she was meant to and did so gracefully with a radiant smile – forced as it was no one would ever be able to tell, but her lack of true feelings created a void between her and Rhaegar that neither knew how to cross because neither really knew it existed. Rhaegar had always been such an emotionally attuned child. On some level Rhaella was sure he could tell he was second best, and no dragon can stand to come second. It had been cruel of her to put the two through tests of loyalty to her son, placing them in uncomfortable situations that they fought to endure, but she hoped it was for the best, she prayed their love would die long enough for Elia to look for it in her son – though such feeling were unnecessary in the grand plan of things.

“Ellie is my best friend and most trustworthy confidant –“

“But does she make you happy son?”

His reassuring smile was all she needed for it reached the centre of his dark lilac eyes enough to warm them into a brighter shade; “She has given me Rhaenys, she carries what I believe is my son, she has made me happier than I have ever been before and yet –“

“And yet?” Rhaella urged once a heavy silence had seeped in for long enough.

“Elia wishes to return to Dorne with Oberyn after the tourney –”

“She cannot” Rhaella waved off with a dismissive motion she had picked up on becoming a Queen; “as you said she now carries your son” a subtle confirmation of his beliefs, but a confirmation none the less; “the future King should be born in King’s Landing, you would have been, had it not been for –“

‘You’ the crueller parts of her conscience would taunt her.

“Think not of painful memories mother” her son whispered as he took her again in his arms, his form once so small he could fit in the crook of her arm, was now so big she could almost fit into his. The thought nearly made her cry, though Rhaella didn’t know why.

“Let her go perhaps after the birth, Gods know she should have gone home long ago before Lori –“the reminder of yet another loss she had suffered left her at a loss for words again, though the pain of virtually losing Loreza in life was almost more unbearable as losing her to the Stranger, it was a pain she suffered still.

“Mother stop plaguing yourself so” Rhaegar chastened, though she could hear the warmth in his mellow tones. So sweet her son is; ‘please let time never take that sweetness from him’ she silently prayed to whatever Gods would choose to listen.

“You are right” she managed after quickly composing herself, her spine once again as straight as the columns that held the eerie halls of Harren, her chin raised just so, and her hands clutched together as though to mimic the poise of virtue that sculptors often portrayed the Maiden with; “on both accounts you are right, Elia should not return to Dorne yet and I should stop this foolishness.”

“You are not foolish mother” he tried to assure with his melancholic smile; “just sensitive.”

“As are you my sweet one, as are you. Now tell me, is it only that Elia asks for this visit home that upsets you?” Rhaella knew she was pushing more than just a mother’s nosey curiosity but their relationship being on good terms was for the best of the realm – she had seen it so.

“It’s not that” Rhaegar sighed as he went to stand before the mirror and scrutinize himself once more before they departed for his joust against Yohn Royce, the younger of the Lord of Runestone’s sons. “It’s every time I think we’re getting close enough to fuse into one, and I feel as though I could be falling in love” he blushes despite himself and tries to cover his embarrassment by concentrating more intently on his reflection than perhaps he ever had, for dragons do not reveal such weaknesses should they have them, not even to other dragons, “she pulls further away from me.”

The forlorn wanting and pain in her boy’s eyes made Rhaella wish to drag the dornish harlot before her son and strike her until she realised Arthur Dayne was nothing but her dragon’s shadow and Elia should simply commit her whole heart to Rhaegar or suffer a death worthy of a whore. Such thoughts were swiftly reprimanded though, to think such things upon sweet Ellie, especially when Rhaella herself was in fact guilty of loving a knight beneath her station – still till this day. A mother’s protective instinct however, did not often see reason when the happiness of their babes was concerned – no matter how grown those ‘babes’ now were.

“Give it time” she suggested instead; “be kind, be passionate but most of all be honest. With that I can assure you, love will grow” though she could not guarantee what kind of love. The one a woman gives to the man who fathered her children and claimed her as his wife or the kind a woman gives to a man unwillingly, unconditionally and uncontrollably.

“Is time the answer to the entire world’s troubles mother?” A hint of a jape and yet the melancholy lingered in the undertones of his voice.

“Time is the master of all Gods’ designs” she said with a smile as she took the arm he had presented for her.

 

 

The competition had just begun by the time she had taken her seat on the royal dais; the first joust of the day was Ser Arthur Dayne versus the oldest of Lord Whent’s sons, Oswell, named for his uncle in the Kingsguard.

“Does he share your jousting skills as well as your name Ser?” Rhaella asked the knight over her shoulder, she did not bother to turn around and face him to speak – as she normally would (just so Oswell could see the taunting in her eyes), a Queen did not do so, least not in the presence of her King.

“From the looks of things, my Queen” Oswell replied, his voice as low and haunting as ever; “I’m afraid so”

She almost could have laughed at that, had it not been for the way that Aerys’ fingernails screeched and scraped as he clenched at the arms of his chair.

“So familiar you are, sister” Aerys hissed, the word ‘sister’ said with enough malice to be poisonous; “in such high spirits today it seems, hmm?”

The tremble began in her hands; though no one could tell with how tightly clasped they were in her lap. She internally composed herself; 

 

_’Be fierce and brave like the lioness’ Joanna had whispered in her ear on her wedding night, as they clothed her in the ugliest night shift they could find – even now once the vows were said and they prepared her royal wedding bed, her sisters still helped her in taking such subtle actions of rebellion against the inevitable._

_‘Be unbowed, unbent and unbroken like the coming of tomorrow’s sun’ Loreza had added reassuringly_

_‘But I am neither lioness nor sun!’ she had almost cried, though she desperately urged any signs of tears away_

_‘You are both for we have taught you how to be’ Loreza drawled in her ear taking Joanna’s place as she had moved to assess Rhaella from the front. Loreza released the final pin from her hair and went to Joan’s side to take one final look at their maiden princess – before she was soiled._

_‘And you are more’ Joan added as she brushed the slightest amount of crushed berries on the apples of her cheeks with the pads of her thumbs – brave Joanna of the Rock, no one would know by the beauty of her how truly useless she was at applying make-up._

_‘For you were always a dragon’ they said in unison, one smiling at her with a golden radiance that was meant to give her courage and the other giving her that sad smile Rhaella had dreaded the most, the one that said ‘I know this is wrong, and Gods how I would kill to save you –‘_

_‘But you cannot’ Rhaella knew, though she couldn’t help the desperate tears from forming in her eyes._

_‘Thank you’ she cried instead, falling into Loreza as a little girl would her big sister. For is that not who she was? The babe her grandfather, father and uncle had come to love despite themselves, a member of their family years before her mother had ever birthed her._

_Joanna had wrapped herself around them humming quietly the song about three sisters who were forced to wed, they suffered but they endured and in the end, they found their happiness with each other;_

_‘The sweetest sister of the three_  
The Gods bestowed the worst on she  
They cursed her husband long ago  
And now they cursed her with his woe’ 

_Loreza had joined in the silent singing of their hearts’ song, emotionally flooding their tears with it when none of them could afford to cry physically, here was no place for weakness in women, not amongst true Queens._

_‘Oh how Gods tested strength in her_  
Yet weakness in her never stirred  
For sweet and gentle she had been  
But in her heart she was a Queen’ 

 

It was that memory she called upon to provide her with the strength, to battle through such times with Aerys, and to be able to handle the backlash of her uprisings later – in the ominous darkness of their chambers.

“Today has been a good day, your Grace” she congratulated herself for sounding so firm when inside, she was shaking. Aerys did not scare her, not truly, not always but he did hurt her, that much was for certain and after a woman is beaten so many times she learns to be – pleasing.

“A good day, you say? Doing what sister?” He was much more abrasive today than usual Rhaella realised, she hoped he had not heard of her recent – decisions.

“Making small talk with your lords and ladies, my King, allowing them privy to a royal ear for a moment or two”

‘Not that that would do them any good’ she thought bitterly to herself, ‘Aerys listens to my counsel less than he does his shadow’ – truly.

“Liars and cravens the lot of them!” Aerys spat, though his outburst went unheard over the cheers as Arthur Dayne effortlessly unhorsed the first Whent boy after the third tilt, though anyone could see the Kingsguard was only being courteous to the heir of their host by not shamefully unhorsing him on the first tilt, in the second however, young Lord Oswell simply got lucky. Arthur had dismantled from his horse swiftly to check on the boy, but he worried for naught for he was already grinning with a goofy adoration Rhaella supposed young knights had in the famed Sword of the Morning.

“Their concerns, matter not to the dragon” Aerys continued after the excitement had calmed down, though Rhaella prayed he wouldn’t, the lords and ladies of the realm were not fond of Aerys as of late, his growing obsession with attaining wildfire had spread rumours about his madness, most of which were untrue and over exaggerated – for now.

“My concern right now sister, is the loyalty of certain people that I am meant to believe I can trust” the menacing tone in Aerys voice made Rhaella question which Aerys she was now speaking to, the mad one who cannot see reason, or the mad one that can? Though she knew not which of the two she preferred in any case.

“You are the King, loyalty is yours by birth right” Rhaella tried convincing, though she herself could hear the weak attempt it was.

“It’s not enough” he snapped, stirring the attention of Alerie Tyrell and the ever observing Olenna Redwyne, though he noticed not; “perhaps I should take loyalty like our ancestors did sister, perhaps with fire and blood they will learn.”

She hoped his rants were quiet enough to be inaudible from the Tyrell stands, the _‘Queen’_ of Thorns was the last person Rhaella needed hearing such things from Aerys. For certain flowers, twisted as they are, are only good for poison.

“It is your right to” she replied distantly, wishing to be as far away from her own words as possible, as evil and perverse as they could potentially be.

“It is” Aerys agreed, taking a moment to look at her as new contestants readied themselves for the next joust – Ser Barristan would now be unhorsing Lord Whent’s second son no doubt. Rhaella hoped that by putting her concentration on the tourney at hand rather the violent violet eyes that leered at her, Aerys would not see through her face.

“Where is Rhaenys?” He interrogated, for this was no simple question, there was a kind of entrapment to it that made the question more leading than it first sounds.

“She has wondered off with Viserys, Ser Jonothor is in their wake” she added quickly, seeing the sudden threatening change in Aerys face; “I thought to let them explore, tire them –“

“You thought without permission!” Aerys snapped though she did not lower her eyes to him, she wouldn’t give him such power over her; “Ser Gerold” he barked angrily; “retrieve my granddaughter, she should be here to witness blood sport –“

“Is our princess not too young for this, my –“

“Be silent woman!” the word ‘silent’ emphasised with a strike to the face, it hurt not, he really wasn’t in the position to be hitting her with any real force but it was shameful none the less; “She will be purged with fire and blood as the conquerors were, least she turn out weak and unable like you and her useless mother.”

To anyone else Aerys’ – affections for Rhaenys seemed puzzling considering his loathing for her mother. For sure Aerys wavered in his favour of Elia from time to time, it had been him after all who declared no one else good enough for his heir, and what was more fitting then the Mother of Dragons being born of the Sun. Without Elia there would be no Rhaenys, and without Rhaenys there would be no dragons – so it had been foretold.

“Well where is she then hmm, bedridden again is she?”

“I’m afraid so, your Grace” she lied, hoping that he would never learn otherwise.

“Bah!” he snorted dismissively; “useless wench, Rhaegar should have her tied to the bed since she’s only good to fuck into and bear my dragons.”

Rhaella winced at the thought of her gentle son being so cruel, ‘he would never do that’ she assured herself, though she could be proven wrong if these dreams Rhaegar had, plagued him anymore than they did.

“She has done her duty to our house –“

“Not yet” he said in a tone that was more alarming than any of his shrills of insanity; “not yet”

‘Aye, not yet’ Rhaella agreed with her brother for once in the years since the betrothal of their son and Loreza’s daughter had been announced – a decision that lost her a sister forever perhaps but; ‘the dragon must have three heads’ she knew.

Though Rhaella also knew most times where Targaryen dragons were concerned; the third head was bastard.


	5. Rhaenys I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow update, still using my smartphone but get a new laptop soon - hooray :) 
> 
> This chapter was more difficult to write than I first assumed, it's harder to capture what's going on from a four year old's point of view than you might think. Rhaenys (in all my fics) was born in 277 AL the same year Rhaegar and Elia were married but roughly about 11 months after. So say Rhaegar and Elia wed in January of 277 and Rhaenys was born in November, so in this she's roughly four.
> 
> Anyway enjoy? :/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own any of this, it all belongs to G. R. R. Martin, but then we all know that, this is just for courtesies sake :)

Rhaenys Targaryen

 

Her feet were beginning to hurt but Rhaenys paid them no mind as she sprinted as swiftly as she could manage in her ruined silk slippers. She thought they were silly, pointless things, they were no good for running in for they always fell off and they were no good to wear outside for they were ruined the moment they touched muddy ground. 

_”Pointless” Uncle Vissy said, “means it no longer has its uses or fulfils the needs it was meant for, so there is no point in keeping it anymore. Pointless”_

‘Pointless slippers’ she concluded to herself matter-of-factly but Papa liked them, Papa said they made her more be – be – _you_ – tee – full, beautiful! Beautiful means prettier than pretty and Rhaenys likes to look pretty for Papa, she’s his princess after all. If Papa likes the slippers, Rhaenys likes the slippers – even if they are still pointless

“Nys, slow down!” Uncle Vissy called as he chased after her, but that only excited Rhaenys even more, so she ran faster and faster giggling with delight until –

**Thud**

“Ouuchies, Vissy help!”

“Well I bloody told you to slow down, stupid!” Uncle Vissy hissed angrily, it always made her sad when Uncle Vissy was mad with her so she started crying, afraid he would abandon her for being ‘stupid’ – Rhaenys really should learn what ‘stupid’ means so she can stop being it, then Uncle Vissy won’t ever be mad again

“Are you hurt?” he murmured softly once he reached the branch she’d tripped over; “Don’t cry Nys, let me have a look”

It didn’t hurt anymore really but she pretended it did. Uncle Vissy was much nicer to her when he was worried she was hurt, he wouldn’t be angry and yell at her anymore. It was better if she just pretended – Nana said so

“You’ve scraped your knee and spoiled your dress” Vissy said with a frown, sounding more upset with her, than for her, so she whimpered a little in feigned distress; “but you’ll be alright” Vissy huffed, his face brightening with a reassuring smile, “let’s get you changed. You don’t want Papa to see you in an ugly dress do you?”

“Nuh-uh it’s not ugly –“

“It is now, see” he said pointedly, showing Rhaenys the long tear that ran up the front of her skirts and the mud that had stained it for good

“Oh no –“she whined, the new tears threatening to spill no longer faked

“You see, we must go change you’ve ruined your dress –“

“I didn’t do it!” Rhaenys argued indignantly, as if she ever wanted to wreck her pretty dress; “it was the – the tree – and the ground and, and –“she stammered looking around for something else to accuse; “and the slippers!”

“It was you, stupid. Now come on” he growled as he picked her up and put her gently back on her feet; “You can’t expect to be crowned Queen of Love and Beauty looking like a commoner –“

“Why?” She puzzled, aren’t commoners ever pretty? Why aren’t they pretty? Does being one make you ugly? The questions in her young mind were always many and endless

“Because – well –“he stumbled, finding difficulty answering her curiosity as usual; “they’re dirty and stupid and no one needs them so no one wants them –”

“Pointless?” She asked, wondering if people could be pointless too

“Yes Nys, pointless. Now hurry up, or we shall miss your Papa’s joust”

Rhaenys latched herself to Viserys’ arm, trailing him back through the forest with no further arguments, instead she chose too skip along and hum to herself some happy tune while Viserys lead them on their way.

They were happiest when they were like this, hand in hand, not one word spoken between them but an adventure still, embarked upon together. Vissy was her dragonknight and she was his Queen – at least in her imagination. They made secret discoveries every day that they never told anyone about; not Mama, not Papa, not Nana, not anyone but especially not Grandfather – Grandfather would get mad, he always gets mad.

Sometimes you have to keep secrets though, sometimes if you don’t people might get hurt feelings. Like the time Rhaenys told Mama that Uncle Obie called Papa an ‘inbred lizard fucker’, Mama was really upset and then Papa and Uncle Obie yelled at each other – it was definitely better to keep secrets sometimes, Nana said so.

**SNAP**

“What was that?” Rhaenys gasped; suddenly frightened that something could be lurking in the dark of the woods. Shadows started looking more twisted and sinister by the second, the light seemed to be fleeting; “Vissy” she murmured clutching tighter at her Uncle’s arm

“Fear not Princess” he said with a ‘smirk’ – a smirk was bad smile like the kind of smile Uncle Obie has, ‘insidious smirks or smug and conceited grins are the only expressions of happiness that foul snake knows’ Papa said to Mama one night when Rhaenys was meant to be in bed – but then Rhaenys had always liked Uncle Obie’s smile so maybe smirks weren’t that bad; “I shall protect you” Viserys declared as he picked up a stick for a weapon.

“Oh no” she heard hushed curses coming from behind a tree; “he’s armed! There’s no chance now”

“Surrender now foe and your punishment shall be swift”

A tall bear of a man stepped out from behind the tree, his arms high above his head as if he was in surrender; “Please your Grace, have mercy” the man pleaded

Rhaenys bubbled into giggles once she realised who the ‘foe’ was; “Jon Darry, what are you doing?”

“I thought I might sneak up on my princess and steal her away” he pouted, falling to his knees in a low bow as Rhaenys stood over him with her hands on her hips; “but the Prince is much too great an adversary with sword in hand” Jon finished pointing at the stick Viserys was holding.

“It’s Blackfyre” Rhaenys decreed, happily playing along with Jonothor’s game

“Aye” Vissy agreed, flourishing it around as though he had some idea of swordplay – he didn’t, if Rhaenys didn’t Vissy didn’t, he was just pretending; “come fight me Ser Jonothor, or die on your knees”

Jonothor was one of her most favourite king-guard; he was the most fun and always played in their games. Sometimes Jonothor would even play hide and seek with her and Balerion, even after Uncle Vissy stopped playing just because she only had one hiding spot.

Isn’t her fault that the best and most safest place to hide is under Papa’s bed.

“I yield” Jonothor cried as Vissy hit him over and over again with the stick, but it probably didn’t really hurt, he was wearing ‘armour’ after all, men wear armour so they can’t get hurt. So Jonothor was just pretending as well – playing games is always better when everybody else pretends with you

“I yield” Jonothor panted again as he took to his knee in defeat

“I shall be merciful to you Ser Jonothor and allow my princess to choose your punishment” Vissy announced in the voice that sounded kind of like Papa’s when he was giving orders, though Papa’s is much better because – well it’s Papa’s; “Nys, how shall our guard be punished today?” he asked with a wicked smile on his face

“Um –“Rhaenys pondered, wondering what’s the best way to teach Jonothor who’s in charge, “today – Jonothor can – he can – be my horsey!”

“It’s just a ‘horse’ Nys, ‘horsey’ is not a real word” Uncle Vissy corrected with a raise of his brow; “get to it then Ser Jonothor, you cannot have your princess wait on you can you?”

“Of course, my –“Jonothor started but Uncle Vissy corrected him too

“You are a horse Jonothor, you do not speak”

“Of course – I mean neigh, neigh”

“Much better Ser Jon, now quickly on your knees” Vissy commanded sternly as he hoisted Rhaenys to mount Jonothor’s back

“Run horsey, run!” Rhaenys hooted as she kicked at his sides with the heel of her feet, Jon didn’t seem to mind, he only neighed like a horsey and started running as fast as he could; “Run horsey, run!”

“Horse” she could hear Uncle Vissy chastise in the distance, but her laughter echoed too loudly to notice if he said anything else.

Rhaenys loved it when someone was her mount. She liked to pretend that they were a dragon and she was their rider and they were flying off to tomorrow to conquer the world but Vissy said that’s ‘silly’ and silly is like stupid – it’s not a good thing to be, so Rhaenys never told anyone the things she dreamt and saw – sometimes it’s best to keep your most precious secrets from everyone, even Uncle Vissy – Nana said so.

“We’ve arrived at the halls now, sweet princess” Jon said softly as he took her from his back, the disappointment on her face apparent; “Forgive me my little Queen” he said affectionately; “but it is not proper of us to behave so, you know what proper means don’t you?”

“Being proper is doing the right thing to make people happy” she answered; “Mama said so”

“Of course you know” he chuckled; “what does my princess not know?”

Why does the sun always set and give way to the moon, then come back again on the morrow? How did it get on the morrow? Can she get there too? And how many stars are there in the night sky anyway? How did they get in the sky in the first place? Are they stuck there? Can she get stuck there too? There were so many things Rhaenys could think of that she did not know but wanted to – maybe one day that wouldn’t be the case 

“Ser Jonothor” a loud booming voice beckoned, Rhaenys quickly glued herself to Jonothor’s side, she knew that voice – and she didn’t like it; “have you seen the – princess” he smiled sounding suddenly relieved, although Rhaenys was now quite the opposite

“Her Majesty calls for the princess?” Jonothor asked, frowning down at her with curiosity as she clung to him

“I’m afraid His Grace wishes to have the princess sit in audience for the jousts today”

“ _His_ Grace?” Jon grimaced, looking more worried now than confused; “Our princess had a fall in the woods –“

“You let her go into the woods!” The big, bull man roared. He scared her, ‘Ser Gerold’, he hadn’t done anything, at least she didn’t think he had but something about him frightened her; “Have you lost your wits Jonothor? You put her in danger!”

Gerold reached to grab her but Rhaenys was fast enough to duck away behind Jon, who stroked her back as she whimpered into him; “What’s the matter little Queen?”

“Him”

“Who?” Jon asked incredulously, “Ser Gerold?” She only nodded against him in answer

“Are you frightened of me, sweetest one?” the scary knight suddenly asked as though he didn’t know he was a big, bad man. He sounded so nice, so gentle but Rhaenys knows better – at least she thinks she does. She nodded again though she chose to burrow herself as deep into Jonothor’s side as she could get, hidden safely away from Gerold’s hurt gaze

“I would never harm you princess, never” he tried to reassure; “I am Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, I am sworn to protect you no matter what the cost”

‘No you’re not’ she wanted to argue but was too scared of what would happen if she did; ‘you’re a king-guard, you guard the King, Nana said so’

“Perhaps my princess wishes me to accompany her instead?” Jonothor asked gently, sending the Lord Commander an apologetic look

“Please” she pleaded, reaching up to Jonothor so he could take her away from that man

“Has she the time to change Lord Commander, I doubt the King will be pleased if we present her as such”

“Aye but make haste” Gerold huffed, his eyes still looking so sadly at her; “the King is not in good spirits today. Where is Prince Viserys?”

“Here” Vissy called, appearing from out of the trees; “I’ll go help Nys change”

________________________

 

“Hurry up Nys, how long could it possibly take to put on another dress?” Vissy complained as she kicked and squirmed her way into one of the dresses Nana and Mama made for her especially for the tourney. She loved all of them so much that it was hard enough to pick one in five seconds without managing to get into it in ten. Uncle Vissy just asked too much sometimes

“Wait” she whined, struggling as she was to find her way through the layers of fabric

“You can tell that to your lord grandfather if you wish” he scoffed; “he is the one who is waiting on you”

Rhaenys hastened her attempts at the reminder, quickly finding the hole for her head and then tying the ribbon at the front with a speed she was quite impressed she had. Looking in the tall oval mirror at her reflection Rhaenys thought she looked just like Mama – albeit Mama’s dresses are always much prettier than hers and they fit her in a way that Rhaenys’ couldn’t. She had long black hair, black like Mama’s and Mama’s Mama, it was a family honour – Uncle Obie said so. Rhaenys had brown-bronzed skin like Uncle Obie when he’s just come out of the desert and she had lips just like Mama and Uncle too, big and pouty, ‘all the better to kiss you with’ Mama would say as she’d pepper her face with playful and affectionate kisses. Almost every way you looked at her all you could see was Dorne, Mama, Uncle Obie but then again she had deep dark eyes kind of like Papa – though hardly anyone ever got close enough to see, there was lilac underneath the black of her irises, she liked her eyes the most

Everyone said she was pretty, beautiful and sweet, Rhaenys simply thought it must be true cause that’s what Mama is and she looks just like her. 

‘Mama is sweet, Mama is beautiful’ she thought blissfully; ‘Papa is handsome, Papa is kind and Rhaenys is lucky because she has the best Mama and Papa in all the land’

“Are you ready yet?” Vissy moaned as he burst inside her changing rooms

“Almost –“

“You look ready enough to me –“

“But my hair” she pleaded, brushing it quickly back into place with the brush Aunt – Lady (as Papa said) Ashara gave her for her name day just gone

“Quickly” Viserys urged, as he brushed down the fabrics of her skirt and adjusted it so it sat more nicely in place, “there, grab your diadem and you’ll look perfect”

“My – diadem?” she questioned, that was a new word to her

“The circlet crown you always wear, it’s called a diadem – “

“It’s called a crown” she argued petulantly

“It can be called a diadem as well” Vissy growled in annoyance; “never mind it, you can pin your hair like this instead” he said as he hurriedly coiled two side pieces of hair and pinned them to the back of her head with a ruby red dragon clip; “there, just like Mama”

Rhaenys only smiled happily at her reflection, blushing to herself that she could manage to look so pretty – Papa will be so pleased; “Come on Vissy, don’t wanna miss Papa”

“Oh, _now_ you want to hurry” he snorted, but she only giggled and took off again like a dog out of hell 

________________________

 

“Presenting Prince Viserys and Princess Rhaenys Targaryen” the white bull announced, people from all the other stands turned to look at them but Rhaenys was so shy she hid as best as she could behind her Uncle Vissy

“Come my sweetlings” Nana beckoned to them with open arms

‘Do not be afraid my love’ she added with a smile, though Rhaenys knew she was the only one that heard it. Sometimes that’s how she and Nana talked but no one else could know – it was a secret after all, Nana said so

“Not you Rhaenys” Grandfather snapped even though he had a smile on his face, it scared her more when he smiled – maybe those were the kind of ‘smirks’ Papa meant when he was talking about Uncle Obie, but she’d never seen Uncle Obie look that scary before; “you come here” Aerys pointed to his lap, reaching to pull her to him

‘Go on my brave Queen’ she heard Nana reassure, ‘a dragon has nothing to fear’

Rhaenys hesitated, looking from her grandmother to her uncle for guidance, both of them only tried to smile at her encouragingly – _tried_

“Your father has yet to commence his round” the King whispered deviously in her ear; “would you like to see him fall, my dragon Queen?”

She shook her head furiously, earning her a bitter cackle from her grandfather; “You have the look of a snake but inside you are a dragon, not like your father, your father is a usurper –“

“My King, do you think it wise –“

“Shut your stupid mouth you silly whore before I have you burnt at the stake for your witchcraft” Grandfather hissed angrily, Rhaenys didn’t like it when he was angry with Nana, sometimes he made Nana scream and sometimes he left her with bruises and scrapes like the ones on Rhaenys’ knees, Rhaenys loved Nana so much, she didn’t want to see her get hurt but maybe Nana should just learn not to be silly and stupid – maybe they can learn together

“Who’s that?” she asked Aerys, tugging at his sleeve to get his attention. Maybe if Rhaenys made Grandfather happy, he wouldn’t hurt Nana

“Who?!” He snapped, an edge of paranoia in his voice as though Rhaenys had spotted some demon jumping out of the shadows

“The man with the black dog armour?”

“Oh” Grandfather purred sounding dark and vindictive again; “that would be Rickard Stark’s oldest boy, do you know of Rickard Stark my sweet?”

She shook her head again in the negative, not taking her eyes off the Stark man in the big dog armour. He was taller than other men Rhaenys had seen, maybe he was even taller than Papa and Papa was as tall as the Gods – at least that’s what she thought. The Stark man had a handsome face too, it was kind of hairy like Jonothor’s but his eyes were bright and happy and his smile was wide with honesty, she thought maybe he was the prettiest man she’d ever seen – except for Papa of course but no one could compare to him

“Rickard Stark used to fuck into your snake slut grandmother, before she shamed him for a Braavosi sellsword” Grandfather cackled, hysteria laced in every word he spoke

“Your Grace it is –“

“If you think to open your mouth again, sister” he growled, interrupting Nana before she even had the chance to say anything; “it will be the last time you will be able to open it at all”

Rhaenys could see the way Uncle Vissy trembled a little in Nana’s arms, ‘Why?’ she wondered; ‘he’s just a skinny, old man’. Rhaenys was clever enough to never say so out loud but she knew by the small smile tugging at Nana’s lips that she heard her anyway

“Do you think he will win Lord Grandfather?” Rhaenys managed once her mind was focused again on the Stark man readying to joust

A girl with red hair braided atop her head had approached him, he was smiling at her and she was blushing at him but if you asked Rhaenys he didn’t seem too captivated by her, even though she was one of the prettiest girls Rhaenys had ever seen, prettier even than the ones in her bed time stories, prettier than pretty, she was beautiful! – But maybe not as beautiful as Mama and Lady Ashara. He seemed to be pretending though cause his smile suddenly looked ‘forced’ – forced means making someone do something they don’t want to, Uncle Vissy said so. Rhaenys wouldn’t tell on the Stark man though cause sometimes pretending was the best thing to do, Nana said so.

“Perhaps” Aerys answered after scowling at the man for a long time; “but I would rather see him lose”

“Who is he facing?” She questioned further ignoring the way he laughed at his own amusement, she was far more interested in the tourney now that a man bigger – but not better, than Papa was about to joust – even though she wasn’t completely sure what a joust was exactly

“See that stupid looking oaf over there” he pointed at a boy with bat wings on his helmet; “he’s is the third of – how many bastards did your brother sow Oswell?”

“Four boys, your Grace, and a girl” one of the king-guard grunted, the one that has bat wings on his helm too – Rhaenys liked him almost as much as Jon

“Well it seems he shall be the third of four sons to compete and fail” Grandfather scoffed, a dark chuckle rumbling in his chest against Rhaenys’ back; “my little dragon Queen favours the direwolf, like her whore grandmother it seems –“

“Whore?” Rhaenys asked innocently, genuinely curious now as that’s the second time she’s heard that word – she guessed it was not a nice one

“Yes my sweet, whore” he punctuated with a short laugh, twisted and mad as always; “do you not know what that word means –“

“Your Grace, forgive me” Ser Gerold interrupted, though he sounded hesitant and regretful; “Prince Rhaegar would not wish for the princess –“

“Who do you serve!?” Grandfather shrieked so loudly that Rhaenys thought her ears might burst

‘Don’t be scared my sweet Queen’ Nana quickly tried to comfort; ‘the dark cannot reach the sun’

“I – You, my King” the Lord Commander stammered

“Then serve silently” Grandfather snapped glaring at everyone on the dais as though challenging someone else to speak out against him. He let out a grunt and composed himself again so that the evil smile he normally had replaced his malicious stare; “as I was saying my little dragon; a whore is a woman like your grandmothers and mother. The kind of women that lust after men they are not meant to, now, you will not disappoint me by growing to be a whore will you, Rhaenys?” Grandfather asked her sweetly, even though his eyes were burning into hers as though he wished to devour her

“No Lord Grandfather” she murmured hesitantly, still not really knowing what to say; “I won’t be a whore”

“Clever girl Rhaenys” Grandfather approved with a pat to her head and an awkward kind of hug that was more daunting than comforting; “you’ll save yourself much grief if you can manage to fight your dornish urges and keep your legs shut, sweet”

Rhaenys didn’t understand but then again she didn’t want to, Grandfather never had anything nice to say – and if you don’t have nothing nice to say, don’t say nothing, Mama said so. Rhaenys just watched the game at hand more eagerly, studying each man closely as they were mounted to their horses

“Why do they need help to get on the _horse_?” Rhaenys remembered ‘horse’ not ‘horsey’, Uncle Vissy teaches her words because Grandfather doesn’t like it when she sounds ‘stupid, like a babe’

‘I am a babe’ she wished to protest; ‘Mama and Papa’s babe, they said so’ but it was better if you didn’t argue with Grandfather, **everybody** said so

“Papa can get on the horse by himself –“

“Not when preparing for a joust he can’t” Grandfather snapped, Rhaenys couldn’t understand why he didn’t like Papa much, Papa was his son, but then maybe Papas don’t love sons as much as daughters – Rhaenys secretly hoped that was so, she didn’t like the idea of Papa loving someone else more than her.

“The armour is too heavy, they need to be saddled to the horse perfectly if they hope to stay on it –“

“Stay on it? Why will they fall off?”

Grandfather only chortled away into madness again, Rhaenys hated it when he laughed, it never sounded nice. If Grandfather could just be more nice maybe people could love him more –

‘It’s too late for that, my sweet’ Nana smiled sadly at her as Rhaenys heard the words; ‘he’s too far gone now’

‘Gone where?’ She wanted to ask; ‘Can’t we go find him? Then we could just bring him back, can’t we?’ but Nana looked so upset now that Rhaenys didn’t want to ask anymore questions, not even in her mind

“Watch and see little dragon” Grandfather whispered, stroking her hair just like Papa does – but Papa doesn’t scare her when he does it; “watch and we shall purge your weakness with blood –“

“Blood?” she murmured, suddenly not so excited to keep watching; “But I don’t like blood –“

“You are a dragon!” Aerys hissed loudly in her ear, though when it came to Rhaenys, his anger was always quick to be replaced with malicious knowing and a sly grin; “You are fire. You are blood” he murmured to her in awe, his long pointy fingernails slowing raking down her back in what was meant to be a soothing notion but frightened her more even still

“You are death”


End file.
